A Different Cold
by a.m.Rain
Summary: Castle Black receives deliveries from a man and his daughter when the harvest is favorable. Every year, the two visit The Night's Watch, and every year they leave. Until she doesn't. Jon S/OC. Sort of Slow Burn
1. Chapter 1

This was a different kind of cold. The cold clawed at her skin like it was trying to rip her apart. Her body ached so very suddenly that her muscles seized and she sharply inhaled. It was hard to breathe between chattering teeth. The air felt thinner, each breath less fulfilling than the last.

Green eyes blinked against the frigid wind that blew ruthlessly passed her. Each gust pricked at her skin like tiny needles, causing her face to flush red with the expanding blood vessels beneath her skin. She shivered rather violently and her teeth clicked together in an uneven rhythm as she tried to clench her jaw tighter to stop them from doing so.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" she heard her father call to her, his voice loud over the rising winds, and her eyes turned to him.

He was a man of short stature, only a few centimeters taller than she. He had a round belly and a pink face, his eyes were framed with crows feet from being crinkled in a merry way. His bellowing laughter followed, the loud, deep, resonant sound breaking over a particularly violent gust.

She was a child of three and ten, standing 160 centimeters, completely unable to see over the sides of the wall of ice. Instead, she and her father had to stand huddled together in one of the many breaks in the structure, only a step or two away from a deadly plummet.

Her father had brought her to castle black, but she'd only ever sat in the Lord Commander's tower, been to the dining hall, the kitchens, and the library. She and her father transported goods from their small, neighboring village to the fortress when the seasons were favorable.

Each time they would travel to the fortress, her father would tell her stories about The Wall. A great barrier of ice with enchantments carved through the layers to keep whatever was on the other side out. She found herself having dreams of the monsters beyond the wall, dreams of the endless white abyss that was hidden by the big block of ice. Never before was she allowed atop the Wall. It had taken quite some convincing for the Lord Commander to allow her and her father to survey the land beyond the Wall from the highest point in the North.

She remembered wishing she could stand atop that mountain of ice and see what was hidden behind it, and yet here she was, brows knitted and arms crossed tightly across her chest in defiant protest. She didn't want to be there now. Now that she knew how cold it was, and how terribly bleak it was beyond the Wall. She had conjured up a fantastical world beyond, a place untouched by man, a landscape unmarred by towers, but all she could see was white, and all she could feel was the blistering cold.

She exhaled and felt her hot breath warm the scarf over her nose and mouth momentarily before it turned cold and damp. The thick wool of her scarf retained the moisture from each breath she exhaled and became stiff as it froze against her face. Groaning, she cupped her hands over the offending material to try and alleviate some of the chill. She squinted her eyes and shifted closer to her father.

He patted her on the shoulder and pulled the cloth of his own scarf from around his mouth. Snow got caught in his beard and he laughed again, a great booming sound that made the corners of her mouth turn up. Her father was always a very jolly man, he saw the bright side in everything and everyone. He taught her to be optimistic as well, however, she had hit a rebellious streak a few months back and turned sour to everything he tried to teach her. His wife assured him that all girls go through a similar phase, and that when she grew older, she'd come to dote on her father again.

"It's gorgeous," he signed, the air escaping him leaving him in a thick cloud, "I've read books and books on the endless white, but it doesn't do it justice."

"It's unnerving," she mumbled, and he chucked. She opened her eyes wide, then squinted again, as though she could achieve a further line of sight by doing so. "And bleak, and plain and dull." She pulled her scarf down around her neck and turned to her father fully. "I want to go back down. It's too cold up here."

"Alright, then," Her father nodded and lead her back towards the lift the Brothers in Black had fashioned.

One of the Brother's watching the wall held his hand out for her to take. Her small hand slid into his much larger one as he assisted her to safely board the lift, then extended the same courtesy for her father and nodded his head at the thanks he received. As soon as the gate was latched shut, the lift trembled and groaned before beginning the slow, steady descent back to the ground.

Safely on the ground again, she was lead through the groups of men that stared at her as she passed. Some looked away as soon as they made eye contact with her, others smiled, others raised their eyebrows. She pulled her scarf back over her nose and her hood over her head, the men in the yard were new recruits, not the Brothers she had grown familiar with. Some of them were still wearing the clothes they were brought in, not yet donning black. She shifted uncomfortably under their gaze until her father's heavy arm settled on her shoulders and pulled her in closer to him. She trained her eyes on the ground and successfully avoided eye contact with any of the other Brothers.

She never understood how her father remembered his way around the fortress. Every hallway looked the same, every door looked the same, the same cold, stone floors ran throughout the bottom floor of the entire structure, it seemed like an endlessly confusing maze. Their footsteps echoed through the darkened halls of Castle Black until they stood in the Lord Commander's study.

"How was the top of the wall, Charlotte?" Lord Commander Mormont's voice rumbled through her and made her skin prickle. Her father pulled her hood off her head and she flushed scarlet for forgetting her manners but she tried to push her nerves aside by presenting a brilliant smile that spread over her face when her eyes made contact with the Lord Commander's..

The lines in his face were deep and unforgiving, showing his age and the hardships he may have faced in life. His brows always seemed knit, two deep wrinkles broke his face between them. His jaw was square and tight, however, the corners of his lips turned up, if only slightly, when he caught sight of her smile.

"Awful," she answered honestly, and jumped when Mormont barked out a laugh.

"Aye, it isn't very pleasant up there." he stroked his short beard before standing from his desk and clapping arms with her father, his large hands wrapping around her father's wrist, and her father's mirroring over the Lord Commander's leather gauntlet . "And, Aland, how was the wall to you?"

"Kind, Lord Commander, kind and awe inspiring," Aland replied wistfully, his own eyes shimmering with laughter. "Cold as hell, though."

"It's only going to get colder, summer will not last forever. We thank you and your village for sharing your harvest with Castle Black."

Her father beamed at the Lord Commander and clapped him on the shoulder. "We need not extra, it would only go to waste. We thank you for the Brother's protection"

Lord Commander Mormont nodded and straightened his doublet before taking three brisk, booming steps towards where his cloak hung on the wall. His footfalls echoed off the hollow sounding wound floor and the stone walls. He swung his cloak up and around his shoulders and fastened it under his chin. His shoulders doubled in broadness under the heavy furs of his cloak, and Charlotte stared up at him in awe.

She admired the Lord Commander, respected everything he stood for. Castle Black was known to have some unsavory, unruly men, and it took a strong leader to keep them from killing each other. She couldn't imagine how he groomed the many criminals that were exiled to the walls to be honorable men whose sole purpose was protecting the realm. Her father often times tried to convince her that all men were good, even if they had made mistakes in life. Aland assured his young daughter that in the darkest times, even the worst of criminals would help his fellow man.

"Come," Commander Mormont held the door open for the two of them, and she followed behind her father.

Though Charlotte had often times felt unease at Castle Black, She never felt fear in the walls of the fortress when the Lord Commander was escorting her and her father through the dark halls. She trailed close behind them, listening to their loud footsteps, the occasional creak of wood, the sound of the Lord Commander's sword as it bounced at his hip. She held her breath and shut her eyes momentarily and heard the men in the yard sparring, she heard Ser Alliser Thorne's voice shouting at them. Inhaling slowly, she opened her eyes in time to collide with her father's back.

The man stumbled forward and the Lord Commander steadied him with another barking laugh.

"Careful, my love," her father chided, "almost knocked me over."

Her face reddened and she smoothed her hands nervously over the front of her cloak and dress, "I'm sorry, pa, my mistake."

* * *

Three years had passed, and every year, a few times a year, she visited the wall with her father. She had grown use to the looks some of the men gave her and became accustomed to shaking the uncomfortable feeling off. Instead, she stayed close to the Brothers that she knew were loyal and trustworthy, and avoided the new recruits until Alliser Thorne had beaten them into submission.

She sat tall upon the seat of her father's wagon, her gloved fingers gripping the reins of the two horses that fronted the small cart of goods hitched behind her. The wind was chilly, but the sun shone down on her and warmed the top of her head. It wasn't unbearably cold, the snow had melted recently and there were wonderful colors dancing over the wet, dewy grass that had emerged from the suffocating snow that had littered the hills and fields between her village and Castle Black.

Charlotte scanned the land ahead of her, she could see Castle Black in the distance, beyond the dewy hills and amidst a thick fog. She pushed her wild curls out of her face and huffed.

Her father wasn't well enough to make the journey with her this year. He had fallen ill the last time it snowed. It seemed summer really was coming to an end, after years of lukewarm weather and good fortune, their harvest was less and less with each passing year. Her offer to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was dwindling, barely enough to feed the castle for a week.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and pulled her cloak a little tighter around her. Her eyes shifted from ahead of her to the quiver at her hip, the small short sword that lay across her lap, and the bow at her feet. It was dangerous for a woman to travel alone, especially with supplies at her back, and she knew little of how to defend herself. The stretch of road from her village to Castle Black was not a well traveled road. It was rare that people ventured this far north, unless they were being transported to The Wall.

A violent shiver traveled up her spine when her ears caught the sound of hooves behind her, many hooves. Her horses started to get restless and jolted forward a little. She gripped the reins tighter and pulled them back into a slow trot, as her father's cart would not be able to handle the bumps on the road at a higher speed.

Charlotte stole a glance over her shoulder and caught sight of a rider in all black. A Brother. A sigh escaped her and she pulled her horses to the side of the road to allow the Brother to pass. Behind him were a few more riders. She squinted to get a better look at all of them and felt goosebumps erupt over her skin when her squinting eyes landed on a large, white direwolf. It trotted beside the skittish horses, large red eyes locked with hers and she swallowed thickly. Her shoulders trembled and she scooted higher in her seat, her fingertips ghosting over the hilt of her short sword.

More men came into view as their horses rounded the last hill before reaching where her cart stood. She stiffened and thought about abandoning her goods and hiding, but the riders must have already seen her, that wolf had already seen her.

"M'Lady," the Brother called out as he approached her, slowing his horse to a trot before coming to a stop just behind her cart. Her lower lip trembled and a lump formed in her throat. She parted her lips to reply shut her mouth as soon as another man's horse trotted up right beside her and caught her eye.

He was a half man. Even on a horse, it was easy to see. Her eyebrows drew together as he neared until he was eye level with her. She looked the half man over and cleared her throat.

"Good morning," she greeted weakly, her voice cracked and betrayed her. Her fear seemed apparent, as the imp's face softened considerably while looking upon her.

"My lady," the half man started, tilting his head toward her as he held his hand up for the party to stop. Two guardsmen rode up alongside the imp and stopped just behind him, the Brother re-adjusted himself in his saddle as the other horses neared and came to a stop as well. The wolf, however, did not.

He circled her cart, sniffing her wares and startling her horses. The two beasts grew restless, whinnied at the large wolf, and pawed the ground nervously. She shifted her gaze from the half man and gripped the hilt of her sword, standing from her seat to try to ward off the dire wolf with her height. Her hands trembled and she tried to stand a bit straighter, fingers curling tightly around the tightly wrapped handle of her sword.

"Ghost!" the voice started her and she whipped around, dropping her short sword. The direwolf shrunk away from the carriage and horses and obeyed the call.

A young man rode up to sit alongside the Brother in black. His cloak was long and heavy, light colored furs lined his shoulders and his dark hair fell in curls around his face. Stormy gray eyes looked bright in the sunlight, she only caught sight of them for a second before he looked away a beat after their eyes locked. The half man cleared his throat and she glanced at him again.

"You won't need that, I assure you," He stated, motioning to her sword. The man spoke with a high accent, he was very clearly noble, and the men beside him wore golden armor with a lion on the breast and long red capes. They did not look like they were dressed for the cold of the North, but their helmets hid their eyes and their mouths were drawn in a tight line.

"You're Tyrion Lannister," she breathed, suddenly bowing her head. Her curls fell over her shoulders and hung over her face and the imp laughed, she straightened up at the sound and blushed. Ladies don't bow. She was sure her mother would have rolled over in the grave if she'd known Charlotte had bowed instead of curtsying like she'd been taught.

"You know of me? What an honor." he jested and dismounted his horse. "The lady knows me!" he called to the other men over his shoulder. The little man offered a hand up to her as a silent request for her to dismount her wagon. She eyed the extended hand, chewed her lower lip, and squared her shoulders. Charlotte let her gaze shift to the other men that accompanied the Lannister. The Brother, two knights, and a stranger. She swallowed thickly again and took the short man's hand, sliding down from her cart.

Her feet sank into the mud. A couple horses came up the rear and it was clear they were more men for The Watch. They had their hands tied in front of them, and their eyes looked her over. A weak smile spread across her lips and she idly fingered her curls, she felt awkwardness and apprehension rise within her when they did not return her smile and she turned her back to them to try to resolve the mounting discomfort that clouded her.

"Where could a great beauty like you headed?" Tyrion inquired, his voice laced with curiosity. "It's dangerous on the Kingsroad, especially dangerous for a pretty girl."

Charlotte frowned at his comments."I'm headed to Castle Black, my father normally accompanies me for the journey, but I'm afraid he isn't well."

She heard one of them men shifting in his saddle, leathers creak, and the low squelch of mud under boots. "And he let you go alone?"

She turned to watch the man with curly hair and gray eyes walk towards her. His deep voice rumbled from the pit of his chest and caused her breast to warm. His eyebrows were drawn tightly together, his mouth in a frown. She chewed her lower lip as he approached. He was much taller than she was, his broad shoulders were covered in furs, and he held himself with an air of importance. She tilted her chin to the ground and lowered her eyes, unsure of how to react to the approaching stranger. He must have sensed her unease and immediately halted. He raised his hands in front of him, to show her he didn't intend harm.

She glanced up at him through her thick black lashes and parted her lips to respond to him.

"We're headed to Castle Black," the Brother interjected, his eyes were forward. He sat atop his horse rigidly, his hair pulled back from his noble face. He had high eyebrows and dark brown hair. His cheekbones were pronounced and his chin was pointed and covered in a layer of har. "We'll escort you the rest of the way there."

"Splendid idea!" Tyrion quipped, "Would you mind, my lady, if I rode beside you on your cart, a horse's saddle can only be so forgiving, I'm afraid."

"Yes." her voice came a bit stronger than before as she pulled her eyes away from the taller man beside her, "I mean no, I wouldn't mind," she swallowed, "Of course, my lord."

The half man chuckled and set forth to climb up onto the carriage with some difficulty, given his height. She climbed up after him, however, her left foot slipped when she braced her weight against it. The mud had slickened the bottom of her boot, but she felt a set of hands grip her waist to steady her. She stole a look over her shoulder to see gray eyes staring up at her from under brows drawn tightly together.

He eased his hands away from her when she righted herself and pulled herself up onto the platform of her wagon. Turning to give thanks, she watched him trudge back to his horse and hull himself atop the beast with little difficulty.

Charlotte settled into the seat and the imp took the seat beside her. His body was pressed close to her own and she shifted uncomfortably. Tyrion did not seem to notice her discomfort and spoke to her of charming things. He told her stories of the south, of how it was much warmer, much sunnier, much brighter, greener, more pleasant. Better. He would pause to politely ask her if she had ever traveled south, though wouldn't give her a moment edgewise to respond.

"Keep your wolf at your side, Jon," she heard the Brother command. She glanced over her shoulder to see the curly haired man nod, before calling to his wolf.

Jon. Her mind mulled over his name, took in his face. His eyes caught hers and she sucked in a sharp breath because this time, he did not look away.

He was young, about her age, maybe a year older. His brow was stern, he had a square jaw and she could tell he was clenching his teeth. She stared into his eyes from over her shoulder, and her mouth stretched into a small smile when she noticed red in his cheeks. He was nervous. Charlotte found it charming. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, his full lips were turned into a frown. He certainly was handsome. She felt her heart beat hard in her chest. Her mouth went dry while she watched his adam's apple bob when he swallowed.

"Jon!" the Brother scolded, and the boy jumped, his eyes breaking away from her face, "Your wolf," the Brother reiterated.

"Ghost, to me" Jon commanded, his voice deep and strong and it made a pit form in her belly.

"You're taken with the bastard?" Tyrion's voice was low, only she could hear.

"What?" Her face flushed bright.

"The bastard, Jon Snow," Tyrion smirked up at the woman beside him. He patted her on the thigh in an effort to ease her embarrassment but it only caused her cheeks to redden more. He drew his hand away from her and cleared his throat, "My apologies, that was entirely too familiar of me. Such a mistake won't happen again, my lady."

She cast a look over her shoulder at Jon, before shifting in her seat and pulling her hood up over her head.

"Not to worry, Tyrion Lannister," she responded, and he frowned at the sound of his name on her lips, "No offense was taken."

"Good," he stretched in the seat beside her casually. Tyrion laced his fingers behind his head and peered up at her hooded head. "Too bad, though,"

She frowned and glanced at him quizzingly

"About the bastard, I mean." he continued.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's going to take the black, my dear." he sat up straight, "Man shall take no wife, father no children," his hand circled in the air, in a 'and so on and so forth' motion. She laughed, and it brought a wide smile to Tyrion's face.

"Why would I sulk about that? Being a man of the Night's Watch is a great honor," she responded.

"An honor?" he scoffed, "Most of the men in the Night's Watch are criminals, my dear. They are exiled here to keep them away from the good people of the larger cities."

"Yes, though, they serve an important purpose. Without the Brothers, we would be completely vulnerable to any attacks from beyond The Wall. They're salient people, Lord Tyrion, criminals or no."

He hummed and leaned forward now. He seemed to be having a hard time finding a comfortable spot on the bench beside her. "Some are rapers, murderers, even."

She laughed again, "Most men are rapers and murderers," she responded casually, turning to face the imp. He was looking her over. His eyebrows were drawn together, it was an expression she was familiar with. Most people she came across looked at her with that perplexed look across their features. "What?"

"You make a good point, surprising, for a farmer's daughter"

"I'm not a farmer's daughter."

"But you're carrying harvest goods, you're dressed in a frock, your cloak is plain…"

"Yes," she started, then sighed. "Not my harvest, not my father's harvest. I live in a small village and we have large and fertile fields. My father is good at convincing the people of our village that we need not more than we need, and that we should share with those who protect us. And the frock," she said with distaste, "I always dress simply when going to Castle Black." she smiled, "Rapers and murderers, remember?"

"They aren't all rapers and murderers," Jon spoke from right beside her, and felt herself go rigid. She glanced over her shoulder at him and the air felt thinner. She felt her stomach flip and she drank in the sight of him.. She could see the shadow of facial hair on his chin, the gray of his eyes, the tight frown he wore. Charlotte nodded in agreement to the boy beside her.

"That's true, why, Jon Snow here is no criminal. Taking the Black to protect the Realm of Men was a choice all his own." Tyrion's voice swelled with each word, feigning grandeur with his tone.

"That's very honorable, Jon Snow," Charlotte chirped, nodding her head to the boy before turning to face forward again.

* * *

"I thought women weren't allowed at Castle Black," the man beside him hissed.

They sat in a large hall with rows of tables. At the head of the room, one long table sat five men and one woman. She sat beside the Lord Commander, her small stature barely reaching the Lord Commander's mid chest. Her shoulders shook with laughter. She seemed much more comfortable now that she wasn't out on the road. Her presence seemed to swell around her.

"Women are allowed at Castle Black," another said from his other side, "They just aren't allowed to stay."

"Women can stay, I've seen it before, they just aren't allowed to talk to the men."

"Well if they cannot talk to the men, why is the Lord Commander talkin' with her?"

"Don't be stupid," a third man chimed in, "Of course the men can talk to her, they just can't fuck her."

Jon looked her over from over the rim of his horn of ale. She had pale skin, like most people of T North, freckles splashed over her cheeks and neck, as far as to the top of the frock she wore. He gulped his ale and brought his eyes to her own. She wasn't looking at him, instead, her eyes swept through the sea of men before her. She had the lightest green eyes he'd ever seen. They were wide, doe like, and framed with dark, thick lashes. Her delicate, pale eyebrows arched gracefully, and her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were full, but chapped. He had noticed they were chapped on the road, rosey red and raw.

Jon put his horn on the table and jumped at the laugh that sounded next to him.

"Strawberry blonde?" the man next to him snorted, "It's orange. Her hair is orange."

"It's not orange!" another protested, stealing a glance at the girl seated at the head table. "It's peachy, light red, it's strawberry blonde. You've heard of it. Some of the girls in the north have strawberry blonde hair."

"That's the queerest thing I've ever heard."

"It's true! Isn't it, bastard? Girls in Winterfell have strawberry blonde hair, don't they?"

Jon glanced at the man beside him. He was a greasy looking man, he chewed with his mouth open and he had foam from his ale stuck to his mustache.

"Aye, strawberry blonde," Jon confirmed, looking to the head table, only to see that her impossibly green eyes were staring right at him. A curl of peachy blonde hair had fallen in front of her face and she brushed it away with a flick of her fingers. He almost choked on his food as her eyes lit up and a smile broke over her face. She laughed then and the hall seemed to hush at the sound. It was like music, he could barely process the sound of it.

Jon had never been good at dealing with woman. He often found himself tongue tied and would stammer a quick salutation before making a hasty retreat. His brother had always been better at talking with girls, and most of the ladies of Winterfell followed him around in packs. Jon looked down into his horn and took a long swig from it. A hand came down hard on his back, and this time he choked. The liquid splashed up on his face and the men around him laughed.

He turned around to face Tyrion, who looked apologetic. "My apologies," he offered, "But it seems that the Lord Commander has given me permission to go up to the top of the wall with a few of the men who will be patrolling tonight. Would you like to come? It could prove to be interesting. I hear there will be another joining me."

"I'm sure that I'll see the top of the wall soon enough," Jon retorted and Tyrion grinned.

"But," his voice dropped low so only Jon could hear him. His hand rested on the boy's shoulder as he coaxed him to lean in close, "Will you get to see the top of the wall with the great beauty of the north again?" his eyebrows raised and the half man took a step back.

Jon looked dazed by the man's words and Tyrion gave a curt nod, "I do not think this opportunity will present itself again, Jon Snow."

He turned forward once more and saw her green eyes were fixed upon him again. With a coy smile plastered on her lips, one eyebrow arched higher than the other as though she was questioning him. He held her gaze for as long as she'd have it, only breaking his eye contact when her eyes fluttered shut and she reopened them to gaze upon the Lord Commander's face.

"-I think we all would." the sounds of the hall came roaring back, flooding his hearing with the loud laughter and jeering of the men around him.

"Aye, I'd take a piece, I'd take more than a piece. I'd take the whole pie."

"Lord Commander would cut your head off," a laugh resounded around the table and the three men leaned in closer. In a lower voice, the same one slurred, "And not because you broke your oath. I bet he takes that pie all for himself."

"She seems cozy up there, laughin' at his jokes. I bet he's been gettin' that pie since she first came 'ere years ago."

"She's been here before?"

"Aye, every year since she was a wee lass."

"He's a lucky man," they sat back and Jon rose from the table. The three men looked up at him before continuing their conversation, unperturbed by him taking his leave.

* * *

He straightened himself a little when he saw the Lord Commander up ahead, his hand on the shoulder of the woman he and his uncle had escorted into Castle Black. For a moment, Jon considered turning back. He wondered if the Lord Commander would question why a new recruit would be joining them atop the wall.

Tyrion stood on her other side and smirked when he saw Jon approaching.

"The night is calm, Jon Snow," Tyrion called to him, "Lord Commander Mormont thinks we'll be able to see quite a ways with a moon like this." the half man tugged his cloak tightly around himself, "Bloody cold, though."

"It's colder at the top." she muttered.

The three of them looked at Charlotte and she flushed red with the attention. Jon watched as she pushed her wild curls away from her face, fingers smoothing through the tangles near the bottom. The Lord Commander's hand moved to the small of her back, and Jon's eyes followed, but the older man didn't make any comment on Jon's attendance.

The four of them turned to the lift, and Jon climbed in after them. They began their ascent and Jon took notice that the Lord Commander's hand stayed at the small of her back. Tyrion looked between Jon and the couple and raised his eyebrows, but remained quiet.

Mormont helped Charlotte out of the lift and escorted her to the edge of the wall. She hadn't grown since the last time she was at the top, but she wasn't as cold. The night was calm, no wind blew past them and there was no new snow falling. The only sound she could hear was the crunching of the men's boots on the icy path behind her, and the crackling of the torches that lit The Wall.

It was then that she could appreciate the beauty her father spoke of the last time they were on The Walll. She gazed beyond. The moon illuminated the snow below them, making it sparkle. The mountains in the distance were dark and foreboding. Her breath hitched and she placed a hand on her chest, as though to try and console her pounding heart.

"Rather dull, not what I was expecting." Tyrion's voice broke the silence and Charlotte snorted.

"I said that when I was three and ten," she mused, her voice had a sing song quality to it and Tyrion's smile faltered upon realizing that she was comparing him to a child.

Tyrion coughed, "Lord Commander, if I may?" he motioned towards one of the devices that was anchored to the wall, a large wooden platform that jutted off the edge of the wall. Mormont glanced at Charlotte and he caught her nod before he followed Tyrion to the platform a short distance away.

Jon stepped up next to Charlotte and she heard him suck in a breath. She eyed him carefully, a half smile tugging at her lips. She watched him take in the sight behind the wall, waiting for his reaction. Charlotte jumped when he spoke.

"What are you looking at?" he asked gruffly, his voice low and quiet. He was looking right at her then, his eyes swept over her face, which flushed at his words.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, and turned to face him. "Does everyone call you Jon Snow?"

"I'm called Jon Snow," he answered simply and she frowned.

"No one calls you Jon? Just Jon?"

"People seem to like to remind me that I'm a bastard, even when they're not calling me bastard." he answered simply, pulling his eyes away from her and turning them back towards the endless frozen wasteland beyond the wall.

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Jon wasn't use to women taking the time to talk to him. He often avoided interacting with them at all costs.

"Why?"

He seemed startled by her question and shrugged his broad shoulders in response.

"Jon Snow sounds important," she whispered and he glanced at her then, his eyebrows raised, silently asking her to continue. "Everyone here keeps whispering about Jon Snow."

He flushed a dark red at that and awkwardly adjusted the sword on his hip.

"What's your name?" he asked and she smiled wide.

"You're the first one to ask me that, Jon Snow." she turned back towards the edge of the wall and peered over it. The height of it made her head swim and she had to shut her eyes tightly to steady her head. "Charlotte."

"Charlotte." He repeated, "Charlotte what?"

"Just Charlotte." she answered, opening those brilliant green eyes to look him over.

"What house are you from?"

"No great house, Jon Snow."

He frowned then, his eyebrows set in a hard line. "Just Jon. You can call me Jon."

"Just Jon." She repeated and giggled. It was a whisper of a sound, but it made Jon's mouth turn upward. His eyes crinkled at the edges and she smiled back brilliantly. "You're very pretty when you smile." she commented and his smile immediately dropped.

"I'm not pretty."

"Handsome, then." She amended and his flush deepened.

"I'm not handsome, either."

"You are." she insisted.

"You're a lot more talkative than you were earlier." Jon bit and she shot him a look that he wasn't sure how to interpret. It seemed somewhere between amusement and irritation.

"I'm not nervous now."

"And you were nervous before?"

"Wouldn't you be nervous if you were a woman surrounded by strange men?"

He didn't have a response and instead her frowned. Jon kept his eyes forward and tried to ignore the feeling of her staring.

"It's getting colder," Mormont approached them and took Charlotte's hand to lead her back to the lift. "Time to retire for the evening. Are you leaving in the morning, m'lady?"

"I am," she affirmed and squeezed the Lord Commander's hand before he released it to allow her onto the lift.

Jon's eyes followed them and the imp patted his arm. "Don't look so troubled, my boy."

He looked to Tyrion and set his mouth in a hard line. "I'm not troubled."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Tyrion countered and Jon only grunted in response. They loaded into the lift and didn't say another word until they hit the ground.

"Where will the lady be sleeping?" Tyrion asked Mormont.

The Lord Commander looked the imp over before clearing his throat. His hand squeezed Charlotte's shoulder protectively before nodding towards the library. "She sleeps in the room next to Maester Aemon's. The door locks."

"Ah, very good." Tyrion mused, watching as the girl's eyes gazed at Jon from under heavy lids. He watched the boy shift under her gaze. Jon attempted a smile but failed to meet her eyes.

Tyrion broke their silence, "Goodnight, M'lady…"

"Charlotte," She quipped, curtsying to the half man, "Goodnight, Lord Tyrion."

The imp nodded and joined his awaiting guardsmen. Her eyes lifted to stare forward at the retreating figure of Jon Snow, "Goodnight, just Jon," She called, and laughed as he paused mid step, shook his head, and set his foot down heavier in the snow than he had the last.

* * *

 **A/N: thank you for sticking with me. I'm aware that this chapter could use some work. Unfortunately, I'm a bit rusty, it's been a few years since I've written anything. I've found that starting a story is harder than finishing one.**

 **Again, thank you for your patience. I hope you continue on. I promise things will get better. Kisse**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all of the _likes_ and _favorites._ Thank you for the couple of review. I really appreciate every attention I get. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

His first night at Castle Black had not been kind. He had his own sleeping quarters, and though it was barely large enough to fit a skinny cot and a trunk for his belongings, it was still his own. After he had descended from The Wall, he retired to his cot, and found that he was unable to shake the mild discomfort he felt over the encounter he shared with Charlotte.

The girl had gone from timid on the road to a woman that seemed filled with confidence on The Wall. She seemed more comfortable at Castle Black than some of the Brothers that had been there before him. She laughed along with the men when it was appropriate, wolfed down the food that was set in front of her, didn't complain about the biting cold. She was an enigma, a puzzle he just couldn't quite piece together, which shouldn't have come to a surprise to him. His experience with the opposite sex was extremely limited and he couldn't fool himself into thinking otherwise.

Sleep eluded him as he lay staring at the ceiling of his small room, his mind full up of thoughts of strawberry blonde hair. Orange hair, red hair, ginger hair, it didn't matter, her hair was her hair, wild, unruly, but hers. Though it was knotted and imperfect, it framed her pretty face and he couldn't blink her out of his mind.

Jon felt perturbed, being unable to shake himself of her image was confusing. She wasn't the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair wasn't smooth and shiny like the high ladies in Winterfell, her cheeks didn't have rouge, her eyes weren't lined dark, her lips were chapped and her skin marred up with freckles, her clothes were loose and lacking in any unique or individual character. She was short and skinny and didn't hold herself with much poise, but that coy curve of her lips left his mouth dry and his mind hungry. He found himself utterly vexed by her.

He squeezed his eyes shut and she smiled at him from behind his closed eyelids. He groaned, his resolve weak,and he allowed himself the luxury of imagination and let his mind run wild.

At some point, he finally fell asleep, only to feel as though he was woken up seconds later by a loud rap on the door. Jon sat up and his head swam with the sudden movement. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and swung his legs to the side of his cot. Calloused fingers sunk into his dark curls as he held his head between his knees to will the lightheaded sensation that washed over him away. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes to no avail, his eyelids were heavy and a yawn escaped him before he could stifle it with the knuckles on his left hand.

Jon sighed and stood to tighten his breeches. He pulled a tunic over his head, followed by his boiled leather curiass, and he lost his balance when pulling his boots onto his feet. Finally, he stood tall, fastened his heavy cloak around his shoulders, and made his way to the dining hall to break his fast.

Jon entered the common hall along with a few of the Brothers that lived in the same wing of Castle Black. They shuffled into the hall in silence, and were greeted, in turn, with silence. Save for the sounds of flatware scraping against bowls and the occasional gulp, the brothers of the Night's Watch ate their breakfast without a word shared between them. It seemed the men at Castle Black were not morning folk.

He took a seat next to the same men he'd sat with the night before and found his gaze wandering the to head table. Charlotte was missing from the familiar group and he felt a brief wave of disappointment, followed closely by relief. Drawing a deep breath, he glanced down at the bowl of indistinguishable gray muck and dipped his flatware in it. It was a similar texture to paste and his nose crinkled in response to the flavor.

"Not like those fancy feasts you got in Winterfell, eh, bastard?" one of the men next to him asked.

He chose not to answer and stomached as much of the glop as he could then pushed the heavy ceramic bowl away. He watched the rest of the men feast over the porridge like it was their last meal. Some even lifted their bowl to their mouth to scrape the last bits down their throat before belching in satisfaction. It would have been comical if the meal hadn't left him feeling rather uneasy.

"Alright, men," a voice bellowed from the front table and Jon turned his eyes forward. "New recruits with me, I've got to get a feel for the lot of you."

Jon stood to follow the older man outside, feeling anxiety flip in his stomach.

* * *

The air was cold and thin, he was hesitant to pull his cloak off to hang in the weapon's hold, but did so without voicing a complaint. Each man took a training sword and headed to the courtyard with Ser Alliser Thorne. Jon recognized a few of the boys as the men he had arrived at the Castle with, each of them looked him over as he selected his training sword and they all followed him out of the weapons hold one by one.

He stood beside Thorne and waited for his orders. The older man clapped Jon on the shoulder and looked towards the rest of the group. "Show him what you farm boys are made out of."

Thorne motioned to the first of the boys, "You, Grenn," a boy who looked the same age as Jon stepped up. He held his training sword in two hands and tried to appear to stand taller. Jon felt the hand on his shoulder grip and push, and he stumbled into the circle of men.

Grenn took a few strides forward and tried to bring his sword down on Jon's head, Jon held his own blade up and pushed the other boy back parrying his hit with little difficulty. He then brought the hilt of his sword down against Grenn's face with a sickening crunch. The boy hollered and recoiled from Jon. He dropped his sword and brought both hands up to his face, blood seeping from between his fingers in seconds.

"If that were a real sword, you'd be _dead!_ " Thorne shouted, "Lord Snow, here, grew up in a castle, spitting down on the likes of you," he sneered, and Jon felt a wave of anger wash over him. His grip on his sword tightened and he ground his teeth. He drew in a shuddering breath to try to calm himself and bit his tongue. "Pip!" Thorne called, "Do you think Ned Stark's _bastard_ bleeds like the rest of us?"

A skinner man came at Jon before Thorne had finished his question and Jon disposed of him just as quickly.

"Next!"

He barely had time to bring his sword up to block the next blow that came from his left. His left arm shot out after the strike landed on his sword and curled under the other man's sword arm. Jon gripped tightly and tossed the man aside like he weighed little. He grunted when he hit the floor, landing on his left hand at a funny angel.

"Next!"

Two boys came at Jon this time, he breathed heavily through his nose, his heart pounded loudly in his head as he watched the two circle him. His lungs felt like they were tightening in protest of the cold air around him. His chest burned with each breath and he coughed a bit, repositioned his feet, and exhaled through his nose.

One of the boys was larger than himself and he hurled himself at Jon the moment Alliser gave the order. He gave a deep cry when he swung his sword at Jon, and grunted when Jon blocked. He didn't let up, he messily swung his sword towards Jon and hit nothing but air and sword. It wasn't long before Jon had wasted each of the men that came against him.

Alliser frowned deeply at Jon, "Well, Lord Snow, it appears you're the least useless person here." His cold eyes swept over the rest of the group. "Go clean yourselves up, there's only so much I can stomach in a day."

Jon shot a glance behind him to see Lord Commander Mormont and Tyrion Lannister watching over the daily drills. His gaze dropped when he noticed that the curly haired woman was not with them. She wasn't present at breakfast or now, and he realized that she really must have left at first light or even before the sun rose, and it seemed the rest of the Brothers were content to continue their time at Castle Black without another word uttered about her. He wiped his brow and turned to walk to the weapons hold.

He trudged through the thin layer of snow, panting from exertion. The door to the weapons hold creaked loudly when he entered, and made not a sound as it shut behind him. Jon thumbed the leather wrapped hilt of the practice sword; he refused to look up at the other boys that stood around the hold, and took a few short steps to where the swords were stored. He placed it in the same notch he received it from and jumped when he heard the door creak open again.

"You broke my nose, bastard."

Jon paused for a moment and mulled over the possible scenarios in his mind. He turned slowly to face Grenn and gave half a smile. "It's an improvement."

Before he had a moment to react, the other two boys closest to him grabbed him and Grenn produced a knife that he held at Jon's throat. It wasn't fear that Jon felt, instead, it was shame. He had bested these boys in the training yard with little trouble, but when they jumped him from behind, he was caught defenseless.

The door creaked open again, and the three boys turned to look at Tyrion in the doorway.

"What're you lookin' at, half man?" Grenn asked.

"I'm looking at you," Tyrion answered cooly, humming, and continued, "Yes, you've got an interesting face, very distinctive faces, all of you."

"And what do you care about our faces?"

"It's just, I think they'd look marvelous decorating spikes in King's Landing, perhaps I'll write to my sister about it."

Jon felt the boy's release his brigandine and step away, "We'll continue this later, bastard," Grenn mumbled.

Tyrion walked up to Jon as he tried to compose himself. He couldn't wipe the look frown from his face.

"Everybody knew what this place was, and nobody told me. No one but you," Jon ground out, " My father knew, and he left me to rot at The Wall all the same."

"Grenn's father left him too, outside a farmhouse when he was three. Pip was caught stealing a wheel of cheese, his little sister hadn't eaten in three days. He was given a choice, his right hand or the wall." Tyrion mused, and Jon's frown softened a little. The wrinkle between his brows disappeared and he cast a look over to Pip and Grenn, "I've been asking the Lord Commander about them, fascinating stories."

"They hate me because I'm _better_ than they are."

"It's a lucky thing none of them were trained by a master at arms like your Ser Rodrik. I don't imagine any of them held a real sword before they came here."

Jon's initial anger clashed with the overwhelming guilt he felt. He squared his jaw and stole another glance towards Pip and Grenn. The two of them looked uneasy and turned away from him when his eyes caught theirs. He clenched his jaw and relaxed his hands, uncurling his fists and flexing his fingers at his side. He drew in a deep breath through his nose to try to curb his displeasure.

Tyrion's voice broke his thoughts, "Oh, your brother, Bran," Tyrion held a scroll towards Jon and he snatched it from the half man's hand, "He's woken up."

Jon pushed passed the Lannister and out the door of the weapon's hold. The air outside seemed to grow colder with each step he took, the wind howled passed his ears and he blinked the few stray snowflakes out of his eyes. His left hand held the scroll that had arrived by raven, and his right held his cloak shut tight around his body.

No one stopped him from stomping through the courtyard as he made his way to the barracks. When he arrived to his private quarters, he all but slammed the door shut and sank into his cot. His hands trembled as he unfurled the scroll, skimming over the words quickly and hissing through his teeth. His brother believed that Bran had been pushed from the Broken Tower, but that he couldn't disclose more details. Jon stared at the wall opposite of him and tried to calm the his racing thoughts.

If he hadn't left Winterfell, he'dve be there to see Bran wake up

If he hadn't left Winterfell, he'd be able to help Robb find those responsible for pushing his little brother from the tower.

If he hadn't left Winterfell, he wouldn't be stuck at Castle Black. His expectations of fighting alongside a brotherhood of honorable knights and rangers were disappointed. Instead, he was stuck amongst thieves and criminals, just like Tyrion Lannister had warned him.

He struggled with Tyrion's words, going over what the imp had said in his head. He battled with himself over whether or not he truly _was_ better than the rest of the men in the Night's Watch. He fought better, but as Tyrion had said, he'd been trained to fight since he was a child. He wasn't a criminal like the rest of the men, never broke a law in his life, however, he also was never forced to scrap to find something to eat, he never had to watch his family suffer, he never had to make a _choice_ like some of these men had.

Jon's stomach was in knots over the events that had taken place earlier. He struggled to sort his emotions instead of brooding over them in solitude.

He felt relief that Bran had woken up, didn't seem to have any damage to his head and mind, save for not remembering a few details leading up to his accident. Anger of how Ser Alliser Thorne had treated him and the rest of the Brothers. Guilt because of Tyrion's words, because of how he had thought himself above the rest of the men there just because he was Ned Stark's bastard, because Charlotte had mentioned she kept hearing whispers about Jon Snow.

Confusion, upset, anxiety, and unease over Charlotte. Guilty again for thinking of a girl he'd only just met, a girl he'd exchanged few words with.

He ground his teeth and covered his eyes with his hands. His elbows sunk heavily into his knees and his left heel raised and fell against the wood floor. The wind outside whistled in the small window he had in his room, he could hear Thorne shouting at some of the other boys, he heard the clang of the practice swords, the whizzing of arrows and the hollow sound of them embedding into wooden targets. None of it was familiar or comforting.

* * *

A fortnight passed and Jon found himself falling into routine. Breakfast, train, lunch, train, dinner, solitude. He found himself scraping the last bits of his gray porridge into his mouth like the rest of the brothers did, he stopped cutting the burnt bits of meat off his meals, he stopped leaving limp veggies to themselves, he stopped letting the remaining slop harden on his plate. He found himself ravenous in the cold, constantly hungry and always willing to eat what was put in front him.

The boys in the yard still gave him hardened stares, sneering at him after he'd beat them down to the ground. Their last look of defiance was always accompanied by the glares of the rest of the brothers and Alliser Thorne's cruel laughter. Every day, he and the rest of the brothers would be left with a sarcastic remark made by the Master at Arms, all of them, including Jon, feeling defeated by the end of the day.

He didn't find himself having trouble sleeping like he had on the first night.

Many nights, he'd lose himself to darkness as soon as his head hit his cot, and his muscles would burn the next morning. Jon started waking before the rap at his door. He'd stare at the ceiling in the wee hours of the morning, the crisp winter air licking at the glass of his small window, and that is when he'd find his mind wandering.

Thinking of Charlotte became a part of his routine. She had been a very bright part of the bleak North. Though his interaction with her was extremely limited, he'd only spoken a few words to her and she to him, she still was one of the only women that had given him any time.

 _You're pretty when you smile._ His cheeks always flushed bright when he thought of what little she said to him. Her voice dripped in honey as she teased him atop the wall. She was bold and lovely, and he found himself conjuring her image in his mind and imagining other silly things she would have said to him if they had more time to interact. He built her up in his mind, created a personality for her, thought of conversations they would have, imagined what facial expressions she'd have if they'd spoken more, imagined what her lips would look like smooth and glossy instead of chapped and raw. He imagined her wild, peach colored hair combed smooth and her freckled cheeks flushed and soft. He imagined staring into her large, doe eyes in the summer sun.

But every morning, his thoughts were interrupted with the same loud knock at his door. Every morning, he would have to shake her image from his head. And every morning, he dressed and made his way to the Common Hall to eat, and while he ate, he pushed thoughts of Charlotte out of his mind and turned his attentions towards the assignments given to each of the brothers.

Jon was assigned to watch The Wall that evening, and a pit settled in his stomach through the day's training in anticipation of standing on the wall of ice for more than a few moments. It would be the first time he went to the top since he had exchanged pleasantries with _her_. He was sure it would be a lot more boring up there without someone to talk to.

Because he was assigned to watch that evening, he was excused from the afternoon training with Ser Alliser and excused from cleaning the tables in the Common Hall because he was expected to stay awake for the long, cold night. Jon found himself back in his quarters for the second time that day, staring at the ceiling, his legs crossed at his ankles. He hadn't bothered to kick his boots off or remove his cloak.

Gray eyes traced lines in the wood ceiling above him, counting the knots in each plank until he'd lose count and start over. He tried to put his mind to rest so he could catch a wink before he had to stand watch all night, but he simply couldn't. Jon also tried to keep his wandering thoughts from returning to _her_. He ran his hands over his face and sighed loudly. Sleep wouldn't come to him, his body wasn't trained to sleep during the middle of the afternoon. He couldn't go to the yard to train with the rest of the boys, Thorne would send him away.

Boredom crept up on him. He slowly began to realize that he was utterly weary. He chewed the inside of his bottom lip and ran a hand through his thick hair. His fingers caught in some tangles and he winced a little before bringing his second hand up to help the first work through the knots in his hair.

His hair was greasy, it had been a few days since he'd bathed. From what he gathered, the Brothers of the Night's Watch didn't bathe often. Most of them stunk, their hair untidy and their beards unkempt. He had yet to see a man with clean hands or clean finger nails. Jon was use to keeping his hands and his face clean, at least. He use to have a washing bowl in his room at Winterfell that he washed his hands and face in every night and every morning. He remembered when he was a child and would refuse to wash as much as Catlyn Stark demanded of him. His father's laughter echoed in his memory and Lady Catlyn's piercing blue eyes glared at him from behind his closed eyes.

A smile graced his lips in his memory of home. He found he missed his brothers and sisters, even Sansa. He had only been gone a month, but it felt like much longer. In fact, the two weeks on the road to get to Castle Black seemed like a month in itself, of course, the last four miles seemed like a blink of an eye. From the moment he first saw _her_ , time seemed to blur together, up until the moment he realized she was gone, when it came to a grinding halt again.

He could see it clearly, her little wagon pulled off to the side of the road. He had watched her stand tall from the cart's seat and turn with her shoulders straight. He remembered the way she squared her shoulders and hips, the way the wind pushed her hood from her head and toyed with the ends of her hair. He remembered the narrowing of her eyes when Ghost approached her cart, remembered her pink cheeks when she took Tyrion's hand to climb down from the cart, remembered his eyes meeting hers for the first time. He remembered the way his heart felt like it was gripped by two warm hands when she looked at him, the way his stomach flipped and how hot his face got when she smiled at him the first time. He remembered how her little waist felt in his hands when he gripped her above the hips to keep her from falling when she slipped while climbing back up into her seat.

 _Very honorable, Jon Snow_. He sighed, clearly hearing her voice ringing in his ears. It seemed he wouldn't be shaking himself of his infatuation as soon as he'd hoped.

* * *

It was the coldest night he'd experienced yet.

Jon made his way to the Winch Elevator. It's iron cage stood dark against the white wall. His eyes traveled up the heavy iron chain that kept the lift secure. He swallowed thickly and stepped inside, pulling the gate shut behind him and nodding to the Brother manning the lift. The cage lurched and his stomach sank. He shut his eyes tightly, realizing that it was a lot more nerve wracking traveling to the top of the wall without the distraction company would have brought him.

When he reached the top, he pushed his way out of the lift as fast as his feet would allow him. His boots crunched in the fresh snow that layered the ground and he felt a shiver travel from his head to the tips of his fingers, all the way to his toes. It was bitterly cold at the top of The Wall, and he bit his lip when the wind howled passed him.

He walked down the narrow corridor the ice walls provided until he came upon a man in black that looked to be coaxing a small fire to light. A smile graced Jon's face when he realized it was his uncle.

He approached his Uncle Benjen. The man stood upon Jon's arrival and they embraced quickly, hands clapping on each other's backs. Jon left the other man's arms and smiled up at his uncle. Benjen returned the grin and gripped Jon's shoulder.

Jon broke eye contact with the other man and stepped towards the edge of the wall. The wind nipped at the tip of his nose and made him pull his cloak tightly around himself.

Benjen stepped up beside his nephew and smiled out at the vast north, then turned his eyes to Jon. He seemed to be observing Jon's reaction to seeing the far north.

"I wanted to be here," he smiled wider, "When you saw it the first time." Benjen watched as Jon's mouth drew into a tight line. He didn't respond to his uncle's comment and Benjen's smile dropped. "You've seen it already, haven't you."

"Aye," Jon responded, feeling a prickle at the back of his neck. He felt he had done wrong, failed an obligation that he wasn't aware of.

"When? You haven't been assigned to watch until now."

"I came up with the Lannister and the Lord Commander," Jon explained.

Benjen nodded, "And the girl." he asserted and watched the flush appear on Jon's cheeks.

"Aye, and the girl." Jon affirmed, imagining Charlotte standing at his side again, laughing at his blush when she called him pretty.

"I wouldn't get caught up with her, Jon," he warned, squeezing Jon's shoulder again. "You are going to swear an oath to the Night's Watch. Being taken with some mare at a time like this will only make things… complicated."

"I'm not _taken_ with her. I just stood on The Wall with her."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?" Jon shot his uncle a glance, his eyebrows knit together. His lips were turned down into a frown and didn't twitch even when his uncle sighed and smiled.

Benjen shook his head at his nephew, "It doesn't matter, Jon. Just remember what I said, take some advice from an old man. That girl won't cause you anything but trouble."

"It's not like I'll see her again, anyway." Jon scoffed and Benjen laughed.

"She comes to Castle Black a couple of times a year, you _will_ see her again."

The silence felt heavy between them. Jon shifted awkwardly and pushed his hand through his hair. He felt hot, despite the cold, because of his uncle's tone. Benjen sounded like he was accusing him of something he hadn't done, he felt like the older man was trying to make him feel guilty for something, for _nothing_.

"I'm leaving this morning," Benjen broke the silence.

"You're leaving?

"I'm the first ranger, the job is out there. I've heard disturbing reports." the older man sighed and squinted his eyes, surveying the bleak scene before him.

"What kind of reports" Jon inquired, noticing the shift in his uncle's attitude.

"The kind I don't want to believe."

A small amount of fear crept up on Jon, and he could taste the weight of his next words, "I'm ready. I won't let you down."

"You're not going," Benjen replied simply and Jon shot his uncle a look of disbelief, "You're not ranger."

Jon grit his teeth, and tried to swallow his agitation "But I'm better than every -"

"You're better than no one." His uncle's voice rose a little. His tone was firm and short. "Here, a man gets what he earns when he _earns_ it."

Jon didn't reply. He stewed in his indignation. After a couple of moments, Benjen spoke again, breaking the loaded silence between them. "We'll speak when I return."

* * *

 **A/N:** **I wish I didn't feel like I have to apologize for this chapter, but I do. As much as I would like to throw my lovely OC into the mix and pound romantic tension into every word, I cannot. I must do my duty and flesh out these characters as much as possible. You'll see more Charlotte in the next chapter. Kisse**


	3. Chapter 3

It was getting colder. Icy winds whipped across the ground, stirring the freshly fallen snow. The sun peeked through shifting clouds, casting an eerie gray light across the land. Five buildings stood closely together, as though huddled for warmth. Smoke spooled from each chimney in slow tendrils until the wind swept the gray plumes away.

Her village was small, there were only five families that stayed permanently, the heads of each were close with her father and each stopped by their home every day, trying to offer something to her ailed father before each of them, in turn, left with a shake of their heads.

Charlotte sat stiffly beside the hearth of her home. Her father's coughing caused her to tense, her rigidity never faltering as the day dragged on. She clenched her teeth and her hands balled into fists in her lap. Eyes shut slowly and she breathed deep, in through her nose, out through pursed lips.

"Charlotte" her father's voice was hoarse and grated against her ears. She turned her head towards him, eyes dragged across the bleak room before settling on the lump on the bed covered in a mountain of furs. "You'll have to ride to Castle Black," he wheezed and sat up slowly. The crinkles next to his once happy eyes looked like heavy lines that dragged the skin of his face down low, sagging off his jaw as though it was going to slough off of his bones. His skin was a sickly gray color, his mouth set in a tight frown and a grimace of pain.

She stood, shaking out her curls and pulling her cloak off the hook by the door. She pulled it closed and tied it with a rope that hung beside it. "Yes, father." she replied solemnly, dropping her eyes away from the shell of her once merry father.

"Ask to speak to Maester Aemon. You're a smart pup, see if you can find something that'll help your old pa, yeah?" his breathing hitched, a chuckle caught in his throat that sent him coughing again. Great bellowing laughter replaced with deep, wet coughs. She felt them in her chest, as if she was the one coughing. Her hand rested on her breast and she nodded stiffly.

Her feet took her to the one stable in the village, a large barn that housed four horses, Two old mares and two young, one cow, a couple of chickens, and a pig with her litter. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, and the air was damp and warm with the animals' breath.

"Charlotte!" She startled a little and looked to her right. A man, five years her senior, stepped up to her with a smile on his mouth. His hair was brown with streaks of premature gray, his face was young and large freckles spotted his skin. A gap broke his smile between his front teeth and his bottom lip was split. He was comely, in a plain sort of way. Charlotte had grown up with the boy and was sure that they would marry one day. He was the only person in her village that was close to her age, and he was kind and gentle, even if he was simple.

"Hello, Finn." She responded, offering a shy smile. "I need a horse, I'm riding to Castle Black."

"It's nearly dark…" there was an edge to his voice that she couldn't quite place. Her eyebrows raised high on her forehead, a silent inquiry. "But, aye, of course," He pulled one of the leather saddles from the small tack room just behind her. His arms flexed under the weight and muscles pressed against the sleeves of his tunic. She caught herself staring at the straining fabric, she brought her thumb up to her lips and nipped at the skin around her fingernail, eyes trained on the man's form. Butterflies didn't erupt in her belly when she looked at him, she didn't feel an unquenchable thirst when he smiled at her, heat didn't pool between her legs when their hands brushed, but he was a man and she was a woman. The equation was simple. At least he would never hurt her.

Finn saddled one of the younger mares, making quick work of the task, a flush rose from the color of his tunic to his forehead under her gaze. His breath became heavy under the strain of the work but he finished in due time. Charlotte pulled her hand from her mouth and smiled widely at him, reached her hand toward him and wrapped her slender fingers around his upper arm. She gave his arm a quick squeeze and he returned her smile with a crooked grin of his own.

"Thank you," She tugged his arm a little and succeeded in drawing him close to her. He was over a head taller than she was, and she had to raise herself onto the tips of her toes to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth. "You're marvelous," She cooed and he all but turned into jelly in her hands. A nervous chuckle escaped him from deep in his belly, a calloused hand raised to rub the back of his neck in a bashful way. She straightened herself out, released his arm, and gripped the girth of the saddle, tugging it to insure it was tight and wouldn't slip.

Facing the horse, she held the reins in her left hand and placed the same hand on the pommel of the saddle. She righted herself and lifted her booted foot and slipped it into the stirrup. The ball of her foot rested heavily in the stirrup and she breathed deep. She heard Finn shift closer to her. She blinked slightly when she saw him kneel behind her, one knee thumped heavily on the hay covered ground. His big hands were laced and he held them out in front of him. Charlotte smiled sweetly and in one fluid motion, stepped into his laced fingers and he pushed her up effortlessly. She sat heavily into the saddle and her horse snorted at the impact.

She tossed her orange curls over her shoulder and nodded at the stable hand. "I'll see you soon, Finnegan,"

"Ride safe," His hands were fisted in the skirts of her dress. He looked desperate, his face drained of color and fear stitched in every feature. "I've heard other villages have seen Wildlings on this side of the wall, please, Charlotte." he released the fabric and smoothed the wrinkles out of it. She clicked her tongue and the horse popped forward.

"I'll be safe." she said through clenched teeth. The hairs on the back of her neck rose at the mention of Wildlings, a pit formed in her belly and she dug her heels into the sides of her horse. It spurred into a trot and she clicked her tongue again, the palm of her left hand swatted at the horse's rump and within a moment, the beast was at a gallop. She spared a look over her shoulder and saw Finnegan's hand raised in a wave, his other hand covering the lower half of his face.

Guilt surged through her and she faced forward again, thighs hugging the animal below her. The sound of the horse's hooves against the packed earth became as rhythmic as her own heart beat. She could hear the blood rushing through her system, loud and relentless in her ears. _You've made this trip a hundred times_. But every time felt like it could be her last.

The chill grew as the sun sunk below the horizon. Dim light peered over the hills casting orange shadows to stretch in front of her. She shivered, her cloak wasn't thick enough for this sort of cold. Charlotte was used to sitting inside by the fire during the colder months, during the months when their crops all died and the snow fell, during the months when Castle Black was nothing more than a memory and the Brothers were faceless men she never met. She was use to having dinners with her father, singing off tune with Finnegan's sister, whom had a lovely voice, unlike her own. She could hit the right note, _most of the time_ , but her tone wasn't sweet like his sister's. Listening to her was like drinking a cool glass of water.

A particularly violent gust of wind blew passed her. She shivered and leaned closer to her horse's body. Heat radiated from the beast's neck, and she shut her eyes tightly against the cold, gritting her teeth and increasing the grip on her reins. A _hoot_ caused her to shoot straight up in her saddle, eyes whipped around the landscape for any unusual break. A howl followed, then another hoot. Her eyebrows drew together and she squinted against the wind, urging her horse to move a bit faster. The sound of her hooves drowned out most of the evening noises, but not those hoots and hollers.

She felt the grip of fear take hold of her. Her throat clenched and her heart hammered against her ribs. She felt like ice settled deep under her skin, all of her nerves frayed and ignited in sizzling terror. It was a feeling she could recall from her childhood, alone, in her dark room during the long summer when her father insisted she keep her window opened, inviting the threatening sounds of the north enter her bedroom and surround her. She remembered choking on the fear, palpable, it gripped her throat then as it did now. A hand went to her hip and she gasped audibly when she realized she had left her weapons at home, not that they would be much use to her. She was no fighter.

Castle Black's towers loomed in the distance. The cries died behind her and she was left in near silence again. Charlotte released a breath that she didn't realize she was holding, her lip trembled and she sunk her teeth into it to keep it in place. She was almost there. She could smell the fires burning at the wall, she could see the Winch Elevator moving slowly up the wall. All muscles in her body clenched and she heard her mount snort below her, as though she could sense her spiraling anxiety. Her horse slowed to a trot, hooves sinking into the snow below her. The wind whistled in her ears and her hair whipped around her face.

As she neared the gates, she slid from her horse. Boots sunk into ice and she nearly lost her footing, gripping her horse's mane to steady herself. Leading her by the reins, she approached the gate and slammed her open palm against the rough wood.

The peep hole in the wood opened, steely blue eyes peered down at her. "Aye, what is it? Who are you, then?"

"Charlotte!" She called up to the man, throwing her eyes over her shoulder to make sure what ever was making those cries was not behind her. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Charlotte who?"

"Just Charlotte," She snapped, "Lord Commander Mormont knows who I am."

"Your whole name, girl, out with it now," the voice barked back. She could not stop the undignified growl that escaped her.

"Charlotte is my whole name, I have no house!" her voice sounded shrill and grated even her own nerve.

The heavy gate creaked loudly as it was pulled open, a scrawny excuse for a man planted his feet heavily in the snow, his stance wide as he yanked at the heavy iron handle until the opening was large enough for her and her horse to slip inside. The courtyard of castle black was bare, save for a few Brother's keeping watch over the fortress. It was dark and chilly, only a few torches lit the way.

She bit the insides of her cheek nervously, having never been out at night at Castle Black without the Lord Commander beside her. She shivered while trying to remove her horse's saddle, and the skinny lad that pulled the gate open for her all but pushed her aside. "I'll take care of that, M'lady." his voice was gruff and firm, but he didn't give off a threatening air. She nodded mutely and stepped aside, watching him struggle to pull the saddle down, then waddle to the stable. She stood awkwardly in the dark, eyes searching for a familiar face.

"Right then, come on. I'll take you to the Lord Commander's tower." He motioned for her to follow him, though she hesitated, looking the man over uneasily. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. "You can't very well go wandering around Castle Black unattended, can you? Put your hood up and get moving."

Closer to the walls of the fortress, she warmed a little. Her green eyes followed the Brother before her, hobbling up the stairs, foot steps uneven and gait unsteady. She cocked her head to the side, watching him favor his right leg over his left. "Don't fall behind," He snapped back at her, and she took the steps two at a time to keep up. Walking cadence aside, he was much quicker than her, popping up the steps like the ground was flat. She felt her cheeks flush and her breath leave her, winded, by the time they reached the top of the stairs.

Two loud raps sounded and she jumped a little, watching the short man stand back from the heavy oak door.

"Enter," the deep voice of the Lord Commander penetrated the door and the gate guard opened the door, stepping in before her and nodding to Mormont.

"Lord Commander, a lady here to see you, eh…" he hesitated, searching his mind for her name.

"Charlotte," she hissed at him.

"Charlotte. Lady Charlotte," he reiterated, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"Oh, Gods, please just move," she huffed, pushing passed the scrawny fellow and pulling her hood of her head. She held her skirts and dipped into a low curtsy and lifted her eyes to his. She was met with a look of confusion, the older man stood from his chair beside the hearth and waved the gate guard away.

"Lord Commander-"

"Jeor, you're old enough to call me that," his voice was warm when addressing her. His brows were drawn together tightly, but his eyes smiled down at her.

"Jeor," she began again, glancing away from the older man's eyes and to the fire. "My father, he's not well."

"So I've heard, it's been some time since you were last here, Charlotte, has he gotten any better?" the Lord Commander motioned for her to sit by the fire, offering her the chair he had been sitting in. She made her way to the fire, sighing at the warmth it provided and folded her hands in her lap to keep herself from fidgeting.

"For a time, he was," she drew in a shuddering breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. Straightening her shoulders she continued, "I came for help. I implore you to allow me to speak to the Maester, perhaps he could give me an idea of how to help my father."

Mormont was silent, his eyes trained on the pit of the hearth. He stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders square. His presence seemed to fill up the entire room, the fire catching his shadow and sending it all the way to the door.

"I will meet with Maester Aemon and Ser Alliser regarding this matter."

"Please, Jeor," she pleaded, she had gone pale and her eyes were wide, "My family has always aided the night's watch, even when years were hard-"

He held up his hand and she fell silent. "I am not saying no, Charlotte, but I must consult with the other men."

"But _you're_ the Lord Commander, can't you tell them what they are to do?"

"I can, but I won't." he responded gruffly, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. He let out a sigh and turned to face her. "Trust me. Now come, let's get you set up in a room. Nothing can be done tonight, it's too dark to travel."

* * *

Jon spent a little over a week mulling over his uncle's words. He had since worked towards cultivating a relationship with his Brothers instead of trying to outdo them. It didn't take much convincing to let him train them in proper combat, as an equal, not as a yelling tyrant as Alliser Thorne did. Pushing Charlotte out of his mind proved to be a little tougher to do. He attempted to push her out of his daily routine, replacing her with thoughts of other women, sometimes with memories of his siblings, of adventures he'd have beyond the wall, but somehow, freckled skin and chapped lips seemed to loom in the back of his mind.

"Look at that," the boy, Sam, beside him breathed, leaning back in his seat with a grin spread wide across his mouth. Sam had come to Castle Black and was abused from the moment he stepped into Alliser's line of sight. Jon wouldn't stand for it, going against his better judgement and standing up to Thorne. It didn't seem like a fruitful decision, being punished with weeks of cleaning up after meals, scrubbing floors, emptying chamber pots, but it didn't matter. Jon wasn't going to let a decent man get beaten down for no reason.

Jon turned towards the front of the hall, mouth full of gray slop. His jaw nearly dropped but he composed himself, turning to face Sam again. Color drained from his face and he swallowed his bite loudly. His stomach knotted and he set his spoon down next to his dish. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned around again, then tried to blink her image away.

But it wasn't his imagination this time, he had to steal a look at her again, she stood, in the flesh, short and small next to the Lord Commander. Her mousy curls piled high on her head leaving her long, thin neck exposed to the hungry eyes in the hall. Her little hands came up to the neck of her hood and he watched her pull her collar closer to her ears. It was then he noticed she wasn't wearing the same plain black dress she wore the first time he'd seen her there.

Her dress was made of a heavy wool, dyed gray, that fit her snugly to her hips then fell loose to her ankles. The bodice laced up the front and stopped just over her breast, leaving her chest and clavicle visible. His mouth went dry, Jon felt like he was feasting his eyes on the finest dressed woman he'd ever seen, she was a vision, a treat.

"Jon?" Sam called, and Jon turned forward again, "You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Nah, Jon's just scared of girls," Grenn quipped and Pypar snickered next to him. Jon shot the two boys a glare.

"What's a girl doing at The Wall?" Sam asked, looking between the three men in front of him, Grenn who was eating his food like it was any other day, Pypar who kept stealing glances over his shoulder, and Jon who sulked, eyes trained on the bowl in front of him.

Grenn shrugged, "Dunno, she was here not too long ago, something about bringing veggies-"

"-And grains," Pip interrupted, mouth full of his breakfast.

"Aye, and grains," Grenn finished, casting a look to the boy next to him before taking another bite of his own food.

"And her cunt," Rast took a seat next to Sam, nudging the chubby boy with his elbow. He was a nasty man who enjoyed picking on Sam every chance he got, always struck him with glee when Alliser Thorne was feeling particularly sadistic.

"Rast," Jon clipped, his tone hard and low.

"It's true, look how cozy the Lord Commander is with that tart,"

Jon stood and Sam interjected, "Now, you have no right to assume-"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Piggy," Rast barked so loud, some of the men near them shot their table a weary gaze.

"We didn't ask for yours, either," Jon retorted, glaring down at the bigger man.

Rast scoffed and lifted his own spoon, "That's right, tuck in," Pip urged and Grenn chuckled next to him.

Jon cleared his throat to try and break the quiet that fell between the brothers. He tried to stir a conversation to block the hush that fell over the hall out of his head. The silence in the hall was deafening, everyone around him seemed tense, like they could sense that her presence there was out of place, she was back sooner than she should have been and no where near as covered up as she had been in the past.

The young man forced his spoon in his mouth, but he may as well been eating ash. The slop felt dry and solid on his tongue, he was utterly unable to stomach it, squeezing his eyes shut the way he did his first breakfast and swallowed loudly. Sweat pricked on his upper lip and he felt his fingers twitch around his utensil.

"Look how she walks," Sam commented in awe, and Jon could have kissed the man for giving him a good reason to look over at her again, watched as she glided across the stone floor, her skirts swishing around her ankles. He heard Grenn let out a low whistle, and Pip turned fully in his seat to watch her. Jon suddenly felt guilty, like they were all feasting on her, as though she was all of their last meals.

He supposed a woman was a rare thing at the fortress. He wondered briefly if she realized how many eyes were on her, while she pushed tendrils of her lovely light hair away from her clavicle, while she breathed in before speaking, causing her breasts to swell over the top of her bodice, how her thin fingers tugged at the heavy collar and hood of her cape, exposing more of her long, pale neck. Jon drunk her in like a man facing death. She wasn't as pretty as he remembered her, but this was better. Her real face and her real freckles and her real strawberry hair was better than the painted up lady he had made in his fantasy.

Her fingers curled around the sturdy cup in front of her and he swallowed thickly. The pink tips of her lovely, long fingers stood out as the loveliest shade against the dirty brown of the ceramic she clasped.

"To the yard!" the rasp broke him out of his reverie, gray eyes tore from her lovely pink fingers to the ugly mug of Alliser. He stood before the hall, demanding the eyes from Charlotte to him. "Now!" He barked, and all the young brothers scrambled to file out to the yard, each stealing a glance at the young woman before retreating from the door.

Jon caught her eyeing the line of men, watched her lovely lips split into a toothy smile when their eyes met. He felt his face flush and he silently cursed himself and his bashfulness. He watched her push her hair away from her face, eyes trained on him. Only when he felt the chill from the outside meet his face did he look away.

He was distracted while they sparred, dreamily trying to focus on the task at hand. Most of the boys landed blows, he suffered a split lip and was sure he'd bruise beneath his jerkin. Alliser cursed and shouted and through every nasty phrase that came to mind at him and his brothers, but he couldn't be bothered.

 _A girl won't cause you anything but trouble._

Already it seemed true, he faltered in his steps, his swings were half hearted, he only wished to follow her through the halls, longed to hear her voice. He found it was almost impossible to remember what she sounded like, the words she spoke to him in his reverie was too far away for him to grasp. He was a man infatuated, struck by her and her existence.

"Care to share what you're bloody thinking about, Lord Snow?" Allister shouted, inches from Jon's face. Jon blanched, completely mortified that he had been caught focusing on anything but the task at hand. He had previously been able to provide pointers to the men around him, would sometimes bark back at Ser Thorne, would beat every opponent until they yielded, but not today.

He didn't have an answer, and instead held his practice sword before him, positioned and ready for the next spar. He wouldn't allow her to cause him trouble.

* * *

She worried the hem of her dress. Her thumb brushed over the rough fabric, her fingers plucked at any loose threads and picked off imagined dirt. Charlotte felt she had already spent too much time at Castle Black. The Lord Commander had presented the situation to the Maester and to Ser Thorne. The Maester agreed immediately, however, Ser Thorne was harder to convince. She merely wanted advice on how to treat her father's symptoms, but the Maester would hear none of it. He would need to see the man himself, well, hear from the man himself, of what ailed him. She suppressed the plea that stuck to the back of her throat, bit her lip, worried her dress, fidgeted in any way possible until Thorne himself snapped at her.

"Quit squirming, girl," he hissed and she stilled herself on command. Turning to Lord Commander Mormont, he smoothed his rough hands down the front of his boiled leather jerkin, "She cannot very well travel back with the Maester alone." he muttered gruffly, and Mormont nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, the recruits receive their assignments. We cannot put that off, it wouldn't be right."

"Very well," Mormont responded, and Charlotte shot her her feet.

" _Please_ ," her voice felt small and it caught in her throat.

"Hush," Alliser gave her a hard look, which only hardened with the Lord Commander set a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes shifted between the three men, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"We will assign some men to escort you and the Maester to see your father after the recruits receive their assignments. We must be present for the ceremony." Mormont assured her. Suddenly, she felt very tired. Her stance deflated, shoulders slouching and her breath escaped her fully. Relief washed over her and she smiled brilliantly at the three men.

"Thank you," she breathed, her hand settled on her chest over her heart, her cheeks flushed brilliantly and Aemon smiled and nodded towards her.

* * *

 **Thank you for sticking with me so far... I plan to release the next chapter soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I apologize for the delay. I'd be lying if I said there was some detrimental events in life kept me from writing, there weren't. I suppose time just gets away from me sometimes. Hopefully, I can make up for it.**

 **I received notes that people believed my Jon was a little emotional or temperamental, but I'd like to disagree. He has changed a lot over the seasons, from a brooding boy to a kind and fair man. I believe that I do his character justice. He is a young man, after all. He is allowed to be emotional, the turbulence comes with being a youngin' forced into a difficult situation. Don't like it? Your criticism is welcome.**

 **Fair warning, some inner turmoil, emotional Jon, and angst await.**

 **Thank you for reading, as always.**

* * *

Jon was all but fuming. Despite the last few weeks of personal growth that he smugly, but quietly, reveled in, he still felt he was above the assignment he was given.

 _Steward._

He wasn't the only bloke in Castle Black that seemed to stiffen when his assignment was given. He was the best fighter among the new recruits, positive that he would become a ranger, that he would be able to fight amongst the men of the Night's Watch, whether they were the men he thought they were or not.

Even though Mormont assured all of them that their names didn't matter, their past didn't matter, they were all part of the same family now, they were all Brothers of the Night's watch. Jon felt no pride, nothing warm swelled in his chest. The opposite, the cold that engulfed him from within felt like it was cold enough to force his ribs to crack under the weight of his new _responsibility_.

 _Steward._

He felt his blood boil up again. He remembered Thorne's shit eating grin as he stared down his nose at Jon after the Lord Commander gave him his assignment. He remembered the hot chagrin that painted his cheeks red. He felt the stiffness in his fingers as he clenched his fists against the urge to stand and shout in the middle of the ceremony. He could barely contain himself when Maester Aemon was giving him further explanation of his new duties. _Steward_ of the Lord Commander. A _servant_. A man to merely fetch hot water and change his linens. Stewards were nothing but maids.

Even when Pip was lecturing Jon about what is or isn't fair, that life isn't fair, that being on the wall isn't fair, Jon couldn't swallow his anger. It seemed everyone in his life had a thing or two to tell Jon about _fair._

It wasn't until Sam placed a heavy hand on Jon's shoulder and suddenly, he was no longer a bystander, simply watching things unfold before him, speechless. Instead, he was brought back to himself and was forced to hear Sam's words.

"He wants to groom you for command."

 _Steward. Command._

For a fleeting moment, commanding sounded better than being a ranger. Pride stomped anger down, if only for a moment, until he heard light, easy laughter. Until he caught sight of red curls and an oversized cloak.

Gray eyes raised to scan the scene that was oddly and inexplicably unbearable for him to handle. Across the small courtyard at Castle Black, directly across from the weapons hold, leaning against a post of the stables so nonchalantly, like she belonged, like she was a permanent fixture, was Charlotte, head thrown back, long neck craned, curls tousled by wind, _laughing_ at something the boy, the _steward,_ manning the stables, said.

Jon had all but forgotten about her presence at Castle Black, though in that moment, he couldn't believe that he had forgotten. He had been all but plagued with the thought of her, dreams returned to him with a new insistence, like she made herself a little nest in the back of his mind and as though he allowed himself to become familiarized with the thought of her. He glared at her profile as if he could will her to disappear and stop tormenting him with her image. His eyebrows drew down tight around his eyes, his lips tugged into a deep, brooding frown. Sam seemed at a loss for words and awkwardly patted him on his shoulder before busying himself with a menial task, anything to keep him from feeling the waves of anger and anxiety alternating as they rolled off of his friend's shoulders.

He watched her raise an arm, pale, smooth, thin, pretty skinny fingers reach out, tipped pink with the cold. His hands flexed, then formed fists as she reached towards the boy and tuck hair away from his face. A smile broke over her face and she laughed again, the boy in front of her shuffling his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, jealousy won out over every other feeling he had. Fuck the rangers. Fuck the stewards. Fuck the stable hand.

His jaw clenched and he could hear his teeth all but groan under the pressure from his jaw. His eyes bore into the side of her face, swept over her wrist and fingers as she reached up to tuck her own wild hair away from her face, smile never once faltering off her face. Jon's nostrils flared, but something seemed to break, her eyes shifted to him, her smile dying on her lips. Green eyes connected with gray, even from across the courtyard. Her hand dropped from the side of her neck, her shoulders slumped. He watched as her head tilted in slowed time, curls tumbling over her front before the wind whipped them away from her. A pucker formed between her pretty ginger eyebrows. Suddenly, he felt the tension lift from him, he felt blood rise to his cheeks, and another feeling gripped him.

Shame.

"Jon," Sam sounded uncertain, his hand back on his shoulder, heavy, warm.

Jon glanced behind him at his friend, breaking the uncomfortable stare he shared with Charlotte and letting himself breathe in the bitter cold air, forced his battling emotions to settle deep inside him again. He shook out his black curls and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Sorry," he mumbled from behind his hands and he felt Sam's hand leave his shoulder. When he removed his hands from his eyes and turned to reacquaint himself with the sight of her with a fresh perspective of calm collectiveness, he instead, saw Alliser Thorne glaring down at him. Though he didn't have much height on Jon, he seemed much larger. His form blocked the light from the doorway, eclipsed Jon's view of the pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair, and forced the cold to settle over him.

"The Lord Commander wants to see you, Lord Snow."

* * *

"You and Sam are taking your vows before the Heart Tree, though since the weather seems unkind beyond the wall, too unkind for you to travel there tomorrow," Lord Commander Mormont started, breaking the heavy silence. Jon stared up at him from his seat, feeling utterly suffocated under the tension in the room. Ser Thorne was glaring at him like he'd sprouted another head, "You will escort the Maester to Stanstone."

He felt his eyebrows knit before he could school his features. "Lord Commander?"

"It's a small village not far from here. I'm sure you've seen the girl," _Charlotte, "_ wandering about Castle Black the last day or so. Her father is dear friend to me," Thorne scoffed from next to Mormont, but the Lord Commander didn't falter, "To the _Watch."_ and his eyes cast a hard glance at Alliser, who fell quiet under his gaze. "The Maester is going to see to it that he gets better, that he is strong enough to face the coming winter."

Suddenly, Jon felt conflicted over everything he'd witnessed earlier. Charlotte at ease, Charlotte giggling, smiling, _flirting_ , even though her father was sick. Charlotte with her head thrown back and the chords in her neck prominent as she laughed heartily at some stupid joke some stupid _steward_ told. Charlotte, completely confident and happy with her family ailing at home. Charlotte, a woman he'd fantasized about, a woman he didn't know. A girl. A child. Sheltered from the world's horrors. He chewed the inside of his cheeks to try and stomp down the conflicting feelings he had squirming within him like worms. Maybe it was an act. Perhaps she was trying to hide her grief. Maybe she was in turmoil. Maybe he was granting humanity to a woman who didn't deserve it. He suddenly wondered why he was assuming things again.

"Jon?" the Lord Commander's voice cut him out of his reverie and Jon nodded at the older man.

"Aye, when do we leave?" Jon's voice sounded hoarse, even to himself. He almost winced at his tone, but fought against it. The Lord Commander regarded him for a moment, unclasped his hands from behind him and relaxed his posture.

"In the morning."

He nodded and waited to be dismissed, and wasted no time leaving as soon as he was given the order to do so. The corridors of Castle Black offered no warmth, and the wind bit at his skin when he stepped into the night. The days were getting shorter, a few hours of sunlight and suddenly it was all snuffed out so early in the evening. The chill settled deep in his bones, he shivered despite his furs, and trekked across the open yard towards his barracks. Suddenly the days events settled on him and he felt exhausted. He could barely lift his feet from the snow underfoot, not because it was deep or solid, but because he was completely spent. He sighed and walked through the thick cloud that appeared with his breath.

The wind howled as he pried the door open and stepped back inside the walls of Castle Black. For a moment, he wondered where Charlotte slept, then remembered she was in the room, the closet, beside the Maester, behind locked doors. Safe.

And as soon as he found his room, laid on his cot, toed off his boots and shut his eyes, he was asleep, devoid of thoughts of Charlotte or what kind of woman she was. No thoughts, no emotions, no dreams. Safe.

* * *

The morning came too quickly. The sun erupted through his window into his room and roused him before the _rap_ at his door came. It was quiet, still, no wind howled outside, no chirping birds, he could barely even hear the snoring of the men to the rooms on either side of his. It was almost peaceful.

Jon combed his fingers through his curls and grimaced at the thick, greasy feeling it left on the webbing of his hands. His scalp itched and his curls sagged from the grime that clung to him. He glanced at his hands, nails rimmed in dirt, blackened underneath. He could clearly see his fingerprints, as dirt had settled deeply in the creases of his hands. And the longer he stared, the more his anxiety mounted. He would be escorting the Maester and Charlotte back to her home. He would be in close proximity to the girl of his dreams, of his nightmares. To the woman whom he began to have doubts and animosity towards, without so much as a word breathed between them in weeks.

He squeezed his eyes shut and was met with the vision of her pale, freckled skin, smooth, unchapped, pink lips, eyes sparkling with merriment. She'd whisper his name as a breathy secret, she'd bite her lip and cock her head, she'd try to smooth down her curls, he'd put his hands on her hips, but it was all wrong, because his fingers were dirty and she was wearing a pretty silken gown, and her curls were shiney and smooth. They tumbled to her waist and there wasn't so much as a flyaway, not even around her face. Her skin wasn't chapped and her mouth was plump and glistening. He was dirty and ugly and she looked every part the fine lady, smiling and batting thick lashes at him at Winterfell while Sansa fawned over her pretty dress and Arya made rude comments about stuck up girls to her younger brothers. Her voice, when she spoke, was cool and light, airy, soft, exactly how a woman's voice should sound.

He groaned at pushed himself up. Shrouding her in illusion would do nothing for him, did no justice to her. Dirty hands, dirty hair, dirty face or no, he was an escort, protection, nothing more. She likely wouldn't spare him a glance. Judging by how she all but _cackled_ at the stable hand, at the _steward_ , she didn't remember who he was, or at least, did not feel their interaction on the wall was nearly as special as he had felt it had been. And thus, his dirty hands and greasy hair didn't matter. He pushed his self consciousness aside and tried to ignore Catelyn's harping in his head.

Jon dressed in jerked motions, trying to tamper the anxiety that curled at the base of his throat. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders just as he heard the _rap_ on his door. He pulled it open and watched the Brother jump away from his door like it'd burned him. Jon chuckled darkly and nodded, making his way to the hall to eat before his journey. Sam joined him a few paces down the hall, chattering excitedly about this, that, the other thing, until;

"To think, my first time out and about as a Brother of the Night's Watch, I know I didn't choose to be here, but it feels sort of like an honor, even if it isn't. I mean, you'll be there with me, so it isn't like they chose me for my fighting prowess or anything, but it'll be a great adventure at least. Though I can't say I know how far away this Stanstone is, never heard of it to be frank-"

Jon grabbed at Sam's arm and halted him in his pace, looking down at the fatter boy with his eyebrows drawn, "You're going to Stanstone?"

"Well, of course I am. I'm Maester Aemon's steward, where he goes, I go, I suppose. It's rather exciting though, not that I feel suffocated in these walls, but sometimes…" Sam paused and took in Jon's look of apprehension, his tightly drawn lips and furrowed brow, "Jon?"

"You're coming?" he asked again, feeling like his duty amounted to little, feeling foolish that he allowed himself to think of _her_ protector, when in reality, he knew that there was little danger they could encounter on the road from here to her small village. He was likely only going to assist Sam and the Maester with whatever they needed, changing linens, likely, nursing the sick. He wasn't a ranger, he was a _steward._

"Yes, myself, the Maester, the lady Charlotte-"

"Not a lady, just Charlotte," her voice cut into his thoughts and he winced at the sound of it. Sam's round cheeks grew red and he smiled at the girl who seemed to slink out of the shadows, head tilted, hair wild and frizzy, freckles marring her pale skin, which was blotchy and red, especially around her chapped lips. Jon stared at her openly, taking in her appearance and really trying to commit it to memory. She had a thin line between her eyebrows, surely from drawing them up in worry, her curls were a lovely shade of orange, but not slick and shining like in his dreams. Her body looked frail and breakable, bones apparent in her collar, and though her dressed dipped low, there was no ample swell of a bosom. He stared at the edge of her dress, like trying to figure out a puzzle, watching her breathe in and out calmly, her breasts apparent, obvious, not not ample, not like Ros' breasts.

She cleared her throat and he felt his face heat. He lifted his eyes to her, and found her smiling, eyebrows raised, he muttered an apology and she waved him off.

"Am I to understand that you, Samwell, and you," she stared into his eyes like she could see straight through him, all the way into his deepest, darkest secrets, "Just Jon," her eyebrow just barely raised, and he felt his mouth go dry. All thoughts of her being awful, unworthy of his pining suddenly absent, "are going to come with the Maester to help my dear father?"

While her voice wasn't light and airy like he dreamed, she had the sweetest tone when she spoke. Her words flowed from her with little northern accent, her 'R's were soft and her 'T's sharp. She enunciated each word with purpose, there was no guttural quality to her voice in the slightest. Instead, she sounded like cool water, smooth, controlled.

"Yes," Jon breathed before he could stop himself. Sam looked between the two of them, as if they were standing nose to nose, eyes locked and challenging. The shorter man cleared his throat and she dragged her lovely eyes away from Jon's. He studied her profile up close, imagined her throwing her head back and laughing at something that he said, imagined watching her throat as she swallowed, imagined watching her lips moved when she spoke, imagined watching her eyes flutter closed, her lips part just slightly-

"We'll be leaving after breaking fast, are you joining us in the hall, my lady?" Sam asked, and she laughed, just as Jon imagined. Her lips wide and split, her chin tilted just slightly towards the sky. Why couldn't she laugh like that for him?

"Just Charlotte is fine, Samwell." she reiterated. She was the picture of calm composure, of utter confidence. Jon tried to keep himself from staring at her in awe, but found it difficult, until she jumped at the arm that clasped her elbow. The Lord Commander loomed over all of them, his back straight and his jaw set firm. Charlotte's teeth closed over her lower lip, she suddenly looked as small as she was, meek, embarrassed. She looked openly vulnerable, and suddenly, Jon felt his infatuation grow. He swallowed thickly and followed the three of them into the hall to break their fast.

* * *

 **Sorry it was rather short. I really wanted to take a moment to hash out Jon's conflicting feelings. I always feel like he'd guilt himself over having simple feelings.**

 **Next chapter will be split between Jon and Charlotte's POV, I think. I haven't quite finished it, but we'll see.**

 **Thanks again xx**


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